


Stiletto

by shipsheep



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/F, Implications, Mention of Bondage, Stiletto Heels, mention of dom/sub
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-17
Updated: 2015-04-17
Packaged: 2018-03-23 11:26:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3766414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shipsheep/pseuds/shipsheep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The last thing she heard when Irene left in the morning and the first thing she heard when she returned was the clicking of the heels of her black stilettoes. Molly knows the steps of her mistress like a trained dog.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stiletto

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or any of the Characters and I make no money with my story.

The last thing she heard when Irene left in the morning and the first thing she heard when she returned was the clicking of the heels of her black stilettoes.

Every morning still in bed she watches her retrieve them from the closet delicately and fit them on her feet perfectly before inconspicuously trailing up the stockings that clad her slender legs. In the cold light of the early sun through the light curtains the shoe’s red soles branded deep into Molly’s mind. There they remained until she returned after going about her business.

Faint sounds of clicking on stone floors would amplify when echoing across the void halls. It had taken Molly less than a week to get familiar with her distinctive way of walking. Usually Kate too wore heels but her walk sounded nothing like Irene’s. Like a trained dog she could spot out her mistress over anyone else.

Irene regularly came home long after Molly did. She returned late in the evening, letting the patient soul wait and wonder what she was up to. She never complained though. She wouldn’t dare to. 

Also, it didn’t upset her anymore. She knew her place, she had learned it – and she loved it. She didn’t care what Irene was up to when she was gone because Molly was the one she always returned to. Even in her submission that gave her strength and almost might.

When Molly came home from the morgue her flats made the usual thumping sound on the floor in the entrance area. That day was the first time it bothered her.

She had never felt comfortable in heels. It went against her urge to hide. In fancy clothes and high shoes she felt exposed, too prominent. Only in pullovers and trainers, lab-coats and blouses, collars and cuffs she felt secure. Right now, however, these shoes felt wrong.

The shoes, her jacket, her bag and her lab-coat were neatly placed where they belonged. Everything always was where it belonged and everything always was neat. She ran up the stairs not making a sound with her soft socks and gentle steps. Only a few paces from the bedroom door she halted and began sneaking towards it even though she knew there was no one in there and she was more than authorised to enter the room since she slept in this bedroom.

Only fingertips touched the handle and the wood of the door as it was pushed open. Once inside she turned around abruptly and shut the door behind her, leaning against it and exhaling calmly. Suddenly she felt nervous in the room again, just like she had been in the beginning. Not much had changed since she had first set foot into this place, except for some of her clothes in the closet. Nothing in this entire house had been influenced by her presence, nothing in this house looked like a place she could have ever considered living in. However, it didn’t smell like a foreign house anymore. She was so used to this place that she couldn’t even tell what it smelled of.

As the doors to Irene’s walk-in closet swung open the smell of her fragrance clouded Molly’s mind. It made her back away but soon the smell grew fainter and she wanted more of it. On every coat hanger she passed hung a memory of Irene. She trailed her fingers along the various textures of velvet, silk and lace until she reached the drawer at the back.

Most of the clothing she had been wearing was scattered across the closet and she was sure to get a good scolding if she didn’t change that before Irene saw it. She opened one of the draws and found the clothes Irene always made her wear. Carefully she chose a set and retrieved it from its dark bed to put it on before she turned left to the stack of shoe-boxes.

There they were, the shoes that haunted Molly, several of them and all the same, with the same black shine and the same penetratingly red soles. At first she looked at them, examined them from all sides, in wonder what it was about them. Then, however, she sat them on the floor next to a stool and positioned her feet over the stilettoes.

Before her toes could even touch the glossy leather she hesitated. She could never fit into her shoes. Even just imagining herself in them gave her an uneasy feeling in her stomach and made her heart race. Hurriedly she packed the shoes into their box again as neatly as she could and picked up her clothes.

Not long after she had made herself comfortable in an armchair it filled her ears and made her heart stop. 

The clicking.

She was back.

Molly jumped out of her armchair and went to meet Irene at the entrance. She couldn’t think about how she would look hurrying down the stairs, clumsy though she was. She only knew that Irene was finally back. Her stocking clad feet caused almost no noise and so she could exclusively hear Irene’s heels welcoming her.

Irene seemed surprised at Molly’s attire but not at all disappointed. She raised an eyebrow and tucked away her phone when her welcoming committee simply stood there looking at her with eyes that were searching for something and a smile that had already found it.

Without a word or any hesitation Molly fell to her knees in front of her mistress and looked up at her with no intent or demand but with pure loyalty. Slowly and almost ceremoniously she ducked further down and gently placed her lips on the stilettoes one after the other.

Irene revelled in the sight on display for her, the figure on the floor, bowing as though in worship with her head and arms to the ground and her behind up in the air. The hair cascading onto the floor next to her shoes that had only recently tread the London streets made her hope to have red lipstick on the black leather once Molly was done.

As Molly inched away from the shoes Irene could feel her damp breath through the web of her stockings. She squatted down to Molly’s level and raised her head while brushing some hair out of her face, revealing wide eyes and worn-off lipstick.

After Irene had granted Molly an affirmative kiss Molly’s lips were repainted in the darker shade of her mistress’s lipstick. With an appreciative smile she stroked over Molly’s dishevelled hair before she applied firm pressure to her head to guide her back down to her shoes.

Molly showed no resistance.


End file.
